


move, but stand in place

by orphan_account



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:56:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	move, but stand in place

Michael gets his heart broken for the first time when he's fifteen. High school's a drag and he can't sit still for long. Sometimes, he feels like he needs to rip his hair out with the roots in order to get the pins and needles off his skin. The prickling feeling drives him mad, makes him want to scratch himself to pieces.

There's a boy in his class who's funny and good-looking and everyone loves him even though he's not very nice. No one loves Michael, though at least he doesn't get bothered because he's a good swimmer and an only average pupil. He doesn't know what he'd do if people started bullying him because of his long arms and big ears and the way he can't really concentrate unless he focusses very hard.

He's not self-conscious about his physique because he couldn't care less what he looks like, but he's not stupid. He knows other people do. And sometimes, his classmates do laugh when he's a bit slow because he wasn't paying attention. It doesn't happen often, but just often enough to hurt.

This boy, though, Jacob, he makes Michael want to work out, look good. It's the first time Michael seems himself through an outsider's point of view, and he's not sure he likes what he sees.

He looks for the rest of the school year, and shortly after the Olympics when he returns to school, Jacob starts grinning at him and sometimes even stops to talk to him at the lockers. Michael doesn't get that the others are jealous of him until after he tries to kiss him and gets a punch to his face for his troubles. It's what they've been waiting for, some piece of information to humiliate him.

He's stronger by then than most of his classmates combined, so it's not a big feat to smash Jacob against the wall by his throat and mess him up enough that he won't ever say a word to anyone. Unless he wants to lose a couple of teeth, which, Michael's pretty sure, he doesn't.

He's got a few problems in training after that, chokes a few times, can't get his head straight, because it doesn't matter what a few kids in his class think of him, whether they know something about him or not. But the betrayal burns, the lead-on, and he doesn't quite know what to call it at the time, but when he comes out to his mom a couple years later and tells her the story, she pats his head and tells him he's going to find someone, some day.

It was a crush, nothing more, but it didn't really help make him more comfortable around people.

Of course, the crush of a fifteen year-old kid is nothing, Michael thinks, to the crush of a nineteen year-old man, and really, there is a world of a difference between Jacob and Ian. Aside from the fact that Michael wouldn't even dream of kissing Ian. It's just a thing that floats in the back of his mind and he never, ever lets it drift to the forefront, because it's dangerous and could turn out way more catastrophic than a few high school kids taunting him for being gay.

He plays it cool and mostly avoids. It's one artform Michael has perfected and it's not like he talks to people a lot anyway, so nobody notices. He's okay with people saying he's distant and stoic and too intense. It's not that bad a reputation to have, as reputations go.

Ryan's different. Ryan doesn't give him a choice. After one race they have against each other, Ryan comes up to him afterwards and gives him a hug and Michael can do nothing but stand there stiffly as Ryan's big hands touch the small of his back. Then he takes a step back again and smiles hugely before he says, "We'll have to do that for fun sometime."

Like it's a game. Like it's all just... casual. There is no such thing as casual for Michael, never has been.

Except that one time, when they're both finished with swimming but have an afternoon to spare, and Ryan gets the crazy idea to teach him the ropes on a skateboard, of all things.

"Why do you even have that with you," Michael asks, apprehensive and slightly baffled.

"Not mine," Ryan admits. "Borrowed it from someone who lives nearby. I said I'd get bored and someone on the team resolved the problem." He grins. "So?"

"I don't think I'm allowed," Michael points out. "I mean, it's kind of dangerous, isn't it?"

"But that's the part that's fun about it!" Ryan looks at him like he's crazy.

"If I risk injury, my coach'll kill me."

"If you don't, you'll die of boredom. C'mon! Just once?"

And they're not really friends, until then, but after two hours of Ryan teaching him the basics of skateboarding, Michael has a feeling that might be the thing he'll go home with that'll make him sleep easy tonight, not the medal hidden away in his bag. When he does sleep, it's to dream of flying locks and bright blue eyes with enough warm in them to heat his body.

He tries not to think of it too much - again, too dangerous, too risky, too emotional, too distracting. But it's not so easy with Ryan texting him at least once a day about the fact that he's watching porn; that his sister's been pairing him up with her other favourite male athletes and that he can totally send her CG'd photos over if Michael wants to see himself getting some homoerotic action; or that he's going to a party in the evening and wishing Michael was there to keep him company.

It all hits a bit too close to home. He rarely writes back.

Until, at long last, Ryan catches him out on that. It's a bit embarrassing when Ryan comes up to him during Nationals, when they're back to the hotel, and says, "Do you need me to get you a cell phone plan that allows you to text me for free? Because if it's the money, I could totally understand, and those plans, man, they're hard to find, but not all that expensive."

Michael only wants to go up to his room, get into his pyjamas and lay down on his bed, listen to music for a while. But he can hardly just turn his back on Ryan, so he shakes his head. "I don't know what to write," he says. It's as much the truth as that he doesn't want to get close.

"Just write whatever you're doing, whatever's going through your head at the time."

Michael forces himself not to blush because Ryan is what goes through his head whenever he just looks at his cell phone these days. It works half-well, and Ryan doesn't seem to notice. He looks rather disappointed and maybe a little hurt.

"Except if you don't want to - you know. Be friends with me. In which case you can just say so. I won't be mad."

The problem is, Michael wants to be friends with Ryan. There is a flip to his stomach that tells him he wants to be friends with Ryan very badly, but his head is still insisting that it's a bad idea. "I - I don't get along so well with people," he offers.

"I've heard." Ryan shrugs. "I'm not people."

"But -"

"I don't mind. You don't have to get all deep or, like. You know. Just be crazy a bit. Be superficial or just - there, you know? I just want to hear from you now and then, if we're friends. That's what friends do. Stay in touch? Write about silly shit? That kinda things, like? We can talk about music or playstation or do online poker tournaments. I'm game, man, just... you have to be, too, all right?"

Michael looks at him, and decides that he has to think about it. He can't focus right now.

Ryan sees his eyes waver, his gaze settling on the far wall, face hardening, and he smiles. "I guess you want to be alone right now, huh? That's fine. See you in the morning, then." He loves the hugs, so it still seems, because he doesn't just let Michael go, he gives him a quick embrace, half-hug maybe, one of those manly pats on the back before he hurries to the elevator, from where he gives Michael a thumbs-up and mouths, "Love elevators!"

Michael can feel the corners of his lips tug up and takes the stairs.

 

A year later, he has no idea what he did back when Ryan wasn't yet a part of his everyday life. It's still one of those things that baffles him most, the fact that their friendship lasts. There's a balance there, a given, that the swimming is another part of their lives, that once out of the water, there can be touches and hugs while in the water, there is strict racing against the time, towards the wall. Sometimes, Ryan's a bit mad after he gets a silver, but for all that is, Michael still marvels at the fact that it's kind of easy to be like this. Friends.

Sometimes, Ryan calls and they talk. Sometimes, it's about things like the latest action movie or, because Michael is a closeted sucker for romantic comedies, those. Even though Ryan never stops teasing him about it, which is nice, too. Other times, not very often, Michael's in the mood to talk about people. Ryan just lets him ramble then, without interruption. Michael doesn't think he ever says as much 'fucking' as in those rather one-sided conversations. But people are mostly stupid, or don't understand him, and there's a frustration building up inside him that needs to be unleashed some way. Most of the time, that happens in the swimming. But apparently Ryan likes the rambling (which he likes to call 'connecting').

And then there's the moments when Ryan talks about girls and Michael just squirms and doesn't really know what to say, so he just nods and agrees with everything Ryan says. He doesn't know if Ryan has figured it out or not or if he doesn't want to see what's right before him because, well. Most guys would say it's uncomfortable running around in speedos before someone who likes to check you out. But then, Michael's never understood that state of mind, because there are just as many girls swimming with them, standing around in tiny swimsuits, and the guys aren't bothered by them looking. So.

It's when Michael turns twenty-one that Ryan makes it up to Michigan where Michael's staying at the university. They hardly ever do that - visit each other. It's too much trouble for too little time spent together, and secretly, Michael's always thought that it's the distance that makes them able to stay friends. He's not so sure Ryan'll stay his best friend (which he is, since Michael doesn't have many friends even at university, and none of them as close as Ryan) when he spends a week or so in Michael's company. Michael knows he's hard to deal with at the best of times, and Bob tends to emphasize that fact more than he assures people that no, Michael's not a stroppy teenager.

Which Michael can be, now and then. Especially when he's pissed off.

But Ryan's there, and he lets his bags fall on the blow-up mattress Michael's pumped up since Ryan'll be staying for two nights or so; and Ryan looks around the room with a grin that is so typically Ryan Michael wants to cry. The hard-on is painfully restricted by his pants, and Ryan's wearing a tight, sleeveless top that shows off all the muscle groups of a male athlete's chest.

"No roomie, huh?" he asks, touching Michael's shoulder.

"Nah," Michael shakes his head. "Gotta have my space, and all that. Not like I can't pay for it."

"As opposed to the other possibility where no one wanted to room with you because you're an antisocial mute who doesn't know how to have fun?" Ryan's grin grows. He lets himself fall onto the mattress, leaning with his back against the wall.

Michael glares. "Shut up." But he's not really mad. Ryan has this thing about insulting him in a mocking tone of voice that isn't offensive. He just sounds like a complete asshat while doing it, but Michael can live with that.

"What've you got planned for your birthday, then? Hundreds of friends, rented out a whole club, lots of beer and shots?"

Michael opens his mouth, closes it again. "No," he finally says. "No, just. Uhm." He can feel himself starting to blush. "Just you and me."

Ryan blinks, collects himself quickly enough to not make this more humiliating than it already is. "Did you at least get some booze so we can get drunk together and make out messily on your bed?"

The blush is not going away. "No," Michael finds himself forced to admit, again. "I - ah. I don't really drink."

"Yes," Ryan nods knowingly. "Seeing as we spend more than half our time in water, one would think we wouldn't have to, right?" He then cracks a smirk. "I don't see you protesting the making out, though."

"Dude," Michael scowls, red climbing over his ears and he can feel his foreheat glowing with heat by now. "Stop it."

Ryan jumps up to his feet, cocking his head to the side. "Not likely," he jokes, grabs Michael's wrist and pulls him with him. "C'mon, live a little. We don't have to do booze. How about some sort of arcade? This' a college campus. Don't tell me there's no table football."

There is, actually, table football, though Ryan has to jump one of the people walking the floors and staircases of the building to find out where, how and how to get there. After that, it's smooth sailing until someone recognizes him and then, it's him against Ryan shooting goals with half a campus' worth of students cheering them on. He has to admit, it's more fun than he's had for a while, outside the swimming pool.

But apparently, Ryan wasn't kidding when he was talking about the making out, because the real celebration starts when they stumble back into Michael's room and Ryan falls backwards into his bed, huge-ass smile shining up at him. They never turn the lights on, and Michael grunts as he falls beside him. His bed is too narrow for these kinds of antics, he decides. He needs a wider bed, in case Ryan wants to come over more often.

"Someone kept filling my glass with awful-tasking booze," Ryan whines. "My throat's burned up. Is the room spinning?"

Michael snorts. "I doubt it. I feel... nauseous."

"Hang-over prone?"

"How should I know?"

Ryan starts giggling then. "You're sweet, you know that?"

"Wha-?" Michael turns on his side to stare down at his face. "Not true!" he protests.

"You're also so very gay," Ryan's giggles turn into deep, freeing laughter. "God."

"Ryan," Michael protests again, helpless. He can feel the room spinning now.

"I'm right, ain't I."

Michael hesitates only for a second before he says, "Yeah."

Ryan nods. Laughs again. "You totally find me hot, don't you," he then blurts.

"Yeah," Michael admits, mortified.

"Good."

And then he has a tongue in his mouth, and that's not something that happens often in Michael's life. Ever. He kisses back enthusiastically after he realizes this is what Ryan has in mind, this is what Ryan actually wants from him. Feeling his hands travel up and down his sides, tongues sliding together as lips merge in a heated kiss. Ryan tastes like lemons and ethanol, but it doesn't matter much because Michael's been tasting that combination all night and it's not so bad.

They should get undressed, is the next thought that crosses his mind, apparently just in tune with Ryan's brain, because the next moment, Ryan's pulling at his shirt, pulling it up and over Michael's head, yanking until it almost rips through. He's impatient and breathing hard, seeking out Michael's mouth immediately when Michael's free again.

"You, too," Michael mumbles into the kisses. "C'mon." He helps Ryan out of his top and then there's planes of skin before him to caress, hard muscles against his hands. When he touches Ryan's nipples, his hips jerk up, legs falling apart and Michael falls forward, thigh between them, where he can feel Ryan's hardness press against him through two layers of jeans. It makes him want to reach down and touch it, wrap his hand around the heat and stroke him until Ryan moans so loudly it's the only sound in his ears.

"Fuck," Ryan says, and then his hands are on the back of Michael's neck, pulling him down again. Another kiss, open-mouthed, and when Michael pushes for entrance, Ryan starts sucking on his tongue. He clearly knows what he's doing. Michael doesn't want to think about the fact that he himself doesn't. He just goes with it, lets the jerks of Ryan's hips guide him, finding a rhythm. It's like swimming, once you've found your stroke-rhythm, it's just pull after pull after pull, and Ryan's a lot like the water, under him, over him, all around him.

He doesn't think he's ever been so aroused, the need to find release stronger than the will to keep going like this forever. It's Ryan's glistening mouth beneath his own, his hands running up and down Michael's spine, dipping below the waistband of his jeans, the pressure of Ryan's hip against his erection that make him come, quickly, embarrassingly, keening into Ryan's neck when the sensation hits, making him shudder.

Ryan gives a little groan that sounds more like surprise and then Michael realizes he's talking, begging, actually. "Please," he's muttering, panting, hips still seeking friction against Michael's leg, "don't - shit, don't stop, just - move, c'mon, please, Michael -"

Michael stares down at his squeezed-shut eyes, redness of his face hidden in the shadows of the dark room, and he goes for it, like he always goes for it. Two seconds later, he has Ryan's jeans unbuttoned, pushing his hand beneath his underwear and runs his fingers over the hard lenght he finds there, before fisting it, starting a fast, hurried pace he likes himself when he's alone in his room, eyes closed, thinking of sex.

He realizes a second before Ryan comes that he won't have to imagine now anymore. He'll have a memory to get off on now. Memory of Ryan coming into his hand, gasping like after a race, trying to catch his breath, the memory of Ryan straining up towards his lips to get another kiss, since he seems to love being kissed.

"Wow," Ryan says a while later, when he's down from the high. Michael catches up with his brain that seems to have gotten a bit ahead while he was in the middle of his glowy phase. "That... was really great."

Michael snorts. He looks for another kiss and gets it, easy as that, no asking, no begging. He doesn't know if he wants to hear the next words, because there's a fifty fifty chance they'll be a plea for friendship. Of course, there's also a fifty fifty chance that Ryan's been wanting this for a while and won't want to never do this again. Despite being straight, or whatever it is that Ryan is. 'Different', probably. It's as good a word as any.

"We should do that again sometime," Ryan breathes. "That was fun."

Michael glances over at him and sees him staring, scrutinizing, belying the casual tone or words. "I'd like that," he says carefully.

Ryan breaks out in a smile, like the sun coming out. "Does that mean I can call you my boyfriend now?"

"Shut up," Michael says, hitting his shoulder. But then he shrugs. "I guess."

Ryan flips over and lands on top, more energy left than Michael would have given him credit for. He turns out sitting on Michael, knees to either side of his thighs, staring down at him with an attentive look on his face. "Good," he says, and leans down. "Because my birthday's next."

Which is as good a promise as any that they'll have to last at least a month. They'll last longer, though. Michael doesn't let a goal out of sight once it's there.

 

~~~


End file.
